The Perfect Drug
by fordhamalias
Summary: This thing with Owen becomes like a sickness for Gwen, a disease. She finds herself awake at night, scared and insatiable.


**Disclaimer:** Just borrowing them for a little bit. I promise to give them back slightly defiled but unharmed.  
**Notes:** I was a huge fan of the Gwen/Owen storyline – I thought they had brutally hot chemistry and hoped we'd get to see a bit more from them. Fortunately, we have fan fic! Huge hugs and thank you to **cytheria999** who stepped in and betaed this when I thought it might never see the light of day.

* * *

This thing with Owen becomes like a sickness for Gwen, a disease. She finds herself awake at night, scared and insatiable.

At work, her eyes drift over to where he is carefully performing an autopsy on some poor bloke, caught in the crossfire. His hands are careful, light upon the body, and she watches his nimble fingers as they poke and prod and the skin gives to his satisfaction. She tries not to think about how grotesque it is that she finds the precise skill of his post mortem examinations to be a turn on.

The attraction is there for Owen as well. It started at work, two bodies cramped on top of each other in a medical cabinet, desperate for one last second of human comfort before imminent death. It has seeped beyond the boundaries of work quickly.

Owen's taken to following her, no longer satisfied with relying on chance for their meetings. It's Thursday night and he knows that Gwen will be down at the pub drinking Newcastle and watching the Cardiff football match. He knows that Rhys will be with her, but that won't stop him.

He sits in a booth by the bar smoking and nursing a tumbler of whisky. He is patient and focused, watching Gwen smile into her glass as Rhys whispers something in her ear. He smirks, and thinks that it's probably different from the things _he_ whispers in her ear. Owen continues to stare at her intently, trying to take all of her in. The way the angled pieces of her hair frame her face, the valley between her breasts that becomes all too inviting when she leans forward in interest. He glances down at his watch and flicks his cigarette, it shouldn't be long now. When he looks back up, he catches her eyes and a flicker of panic goes across her features. She seems to be unsure for a moment, but then her eyes return to his and stare unwaveringly. He shoots her a knowing smile, before taking a satisfying drag on his B&H and crooking a finger towards her in invitation.

Gwen finishes the rest of her beer rapidly before setting out on to her feet. "Right, I'm off to the loo then, can I get you something?"

Rhys shakes his head, "No, thanks love," but his voice is distracted, eyes focused on the television screen. It's obvious that he's only half paying attention to her. The way this match is going, he probably won't even realize she's gone. It's all too easy, really.

As Gwen breezes past him, Owen states just loud enough to be heard "It's a good thing I'm here. Your boyfriend will have whiskey dick tonight for sure. Wouldn't dream of letting you take matters into your own hands, love."

"Shut up, Owen. You're disgusting."

He slinks up behind her and she can feel his warmth up against her arse. "Yes, but I'm making you wet, aren't I?" He accepts her silence as a confirmation and continues low and silky in her ear. "Come outside with me, Gwennie. I'll push you bare- arsed against the concrete and I won't stop until you've come all over my hand." He splays his left hand on top of her jeans, just below the waistband, his long fingertips dangerously close to where he's promised.

"No, Owen." Gwen protests placing her hand over his wrist to stop him. Owen however, will not be stopped and slides his fingertips down between her legs purposefully and back up slowly, dragging along the seam of her jeans with a slight bit of pressure. He stops when he knows his fingertips are just over the bundle of nerves where she wants him.

"No?" He asks teasingly, pressing with a bit more aching pressure than before and when Gwen lets out a breathy moan that she can't control, she curses herself because she knows he is smiling. "I'm going to ask again." He drawls out with a sexy lilt. He fingers haven't relinquished their pressure and Gwen knows she is done for. "Are you going to _come?_" And when he says it, heavy with meaning his fingertips rub her roughly through her jeans and she parts her legs involuntarily, because it's friction and it feels so _fucking_ good and Owen withdraws his hand straight away.

"Careful now, before you cream your knickers, love."

"I thought that was the idea." Gwen says evenly.

"Well then you obviously weren't paying attention. After you." He gestures with his arm to the back exit, and with a quick glance over her shoulder Gwen is out the door and into the alley behind the bar.

Owen wastes no time backing her against the brick wall. It's colder than she imagined and a shiver passes through her frame. "Don't worry. I'll have you warmed up in no time." Owen leans in to kiss her on the mouth. It's rough and dominant, his lips pulling possessively at her own, willing her to let go with him and forget the man waiting inside. As he slips his tongue into her mouth and meets her own, he feels her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. He smiles against her lips, knowing that's the only permission he's going to get. He nips at her bottom lip before withdrawing slowly, their noses just barely touching and he's staring into her eyes, wide and alert.

Owen reaches for the waistband of her jeans tugging her hips towards him by the beltloops. His deft fingers make quick work of her button and zipper and soon after he is sliding the rough denim off her hips. With her jeans bunched around her thighs, the only barrier between Owen's promise is a black lace scrap which he tears from her body in one go before she can protest. "Sorry, I did like those." He says with a lopsided smirk from down on his knees. His hands push her arse back onto the brick and Gwen hisses fervently at the cold. The objection dies in her throat when he distracts her with the warm heat of his mouth between her legs. He licks up the length of her slit twice slowly, getting her primed and wet for him. Owen's focus then shifts to her clit, which he prods with the tip of his tongue. He laps at her slowly, with his tongue flat and wide, before using his fingertips to part her lips softly and lap with the point of his tongue rapidly. Gwen is gasping above him. She loves Ryhs, she does, but he's complete _shite_ at foreplay. Gwen begins to grind herself into his face slightly, beginning to feel her legs give with effort. Owen takes his index finger and slides it between her legs over her opening. When he glances at his finger, Gwen can see her wetness gleaming across the tip. A blush creeps across her cheeks; she can feel it burning red and hot. She must look like such a slag out here in the alley, she wants to tell him to stop. That they can't. That Rhys is waiting inside. But, when Owen slips the digit into his mouth and sucks her juices off. Her stomach tightens and the protests die in her throat.

"How about that promise then?" He says from his position on his knees and his eyes are gleaming. He rises quickly, grabbing her leg and hooking it around his waist. Gwen can feel him slide a long slick finger inside of her and feels her leg wobble traitorously. He pumps her twice with the digit, smooth and deep. Gwen's biting her lips and straining with the effort of keeping upright. Owen pulls her leg more fiercely around him, bracing her thigh with his hand. "Don't worry, you're not going anywhere. Not until I watch you come for me." The way Owen has positioned her, her mouth is close to his earlobe, and when he curls his finger on the instroke and she moans loudly in his ear, she swears she can feel him harden beneath her.

"Oh God. Fuck. Owen." He has two fingers inside of her now and he's pumping her steadily as she claws at his back. She can feel him hit that sweet spot inside her when he crooks his finger and her stomach clenches tightly as she feels her orgasm building, liquid heat pooling tenuously. He shifts his angle just slightly and Gwen lets out a pained sob. He does it again and she grips his back fiercely. "That's the spot, innit?"

He fucks her with his fingers, hard, making sure he hits the same spot each time and Gwen is incoherent, a litany of filthy words in his ear. "You're going to come all over my hand, aren't you? Go on, sweetheart. Make yourself come for me." His instructions are whispered low and fierce and they are too much for Gwen who fucks back on his hand until her thighs are trembling.

"Oh..fuck. Oh..oh fuck Owen. I'm gonna…" Gwen's strangled cry of pleasure is muffled in the crook of his neck. She can feel the wave of pleasure, muscles tight, stomach shuddering erratically as she plummets over the edge, eyes rolling back into her head. Gwen's body goes limp in Owen's grasp, but he holds her steady as her body shudders through the aftershocks of her orgasm.

When she has come down from her high, he places her leg back on the ground and removes his fingers from her body. They are wet, as he assured and he takes great pleasure in licking each finger lewdly.

Gwen straightens her clothes and makes a motion towards the door to head back inside, but Owen blocks her path.

"Oi. Move. You got what you wanted."

"No, you got what you wanted. Now, it's my turn."

"Owen, we can't. Rhys…" He held out her cell phone to her.

"You're coming home with me Gwen. You know you are, so don't even argue. Now pick up the phone and call your boyfriend before my bollocks go blue."

###########

The nice thing about Owen is that he doesn't do mornings after. There is no awkward scrambling for breakfast, or small talk. Owen slept in - quite like the dead and allowed you to pack up your kit and what bit of dignity you had left and tiptoe out the door.

Gwen turned the key to her flat thankful that her guilt had kept her from sleeping in. At least she could shower before Rhys was up.

"Morning, lovely." _Bollocks. _

"Rhys! Oh hi. You scared me."

"Sorry. There's a match on. I couldn't sleep. How was work?"

"Oh. You know, the usual. Slimey alien stuff. I'm gonna have a shower."

Gwen takes a deep breath as soon as she is safely locked in the bathroom, body getting blasted by the hot spray. She turns the left knob hotter, hot as she can stand knowing her skin will be scarlet when she gets out.

Almost methodically she soaps the loofah and scrubs, scrubbing all the places Owen has left an imprint with his hands and his mouth. She scrubs at a particular spot, a purple smudge on her hip – willing it to go away, knowing that it won't.

Owen will keep leaving his imprint again and again and deep down, Gwen wants him to.

When she heads back out to the living room Rhys informs her that she has a text message and Gwen's hand freezes on the refrigerator door.

"Oh? Who from?"

"Owen." Gwen's body goes rigidly straight. _He knows_. She's not as scared as she thought she'd be.

"What did it say?"

"I didn't check. Do we have any more biscuits?" Rhys asks brushing crumbs off of his t-shirt. Gwen is not quite as relieved as she should be.

"I think there are some Hob Nobs in the cupboard." Gwen is tired of keeping up the charade. Sometimes she wants to shout at Rhys '_I'm fucking Owen, you bloody idiot!' _So that he walks out, or fights for her or something _anything _to resolve the hole in her gut. She strides over to the coffee table and opens up her phone.

_You seem to have left your wallet at my flat. I'm starting to think it's intentional. See you around 3._

Gwen glances at the clock, it's quarter to 12 on her day off. She has dinner plans with Rhys and his parents. Her phone vibrates in her hand. _Don't Bother With Knickers._ Gwen swallows down her guilt and lets the familiar thrum of anticipation run through her.

She doesn't know when she became a fucking junkie, but there's no turning back now.


End file.
